Dangerous Games
by Tinselcat
Summary: An explosion at the laboratory of the scientist Dr. Kamo Quack challenges Darkwing's mystery-solving skills as well as his ideas of what is good, what is evil and where the law comes in. Chapter 6 is up! the next chapter is the last! oooooh!
1. Default Chapter

Dangerous Games: Teaser  
  
by Tinselcat  
  
Rated: PG (probably will increase)  
  
Summary: It's a teaser. Easy as that.  
  
Disclaimer: St. Canard, Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack is a creation and property of myself.  
  
Note: well, after a summer of doing TMNT fics, I'm back in St. Canard. In all honesty, I missed writing DWD fics and look forward to picking up where I left off. I will indeed be getting back to slash, although I'm not sure if this fic will contain any. We'll see. This fic takes place after Dynasty Ducks and Steel(beak) Magnolias, although it isn't essential to have read those fics to understand this one. I'd recommend it, though. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys Dangerous Games.  
  
*****************  
  
  
  
  
  
Dr. Quack removed her glasses and rubbed a thumb and forefinger into her eyes. She groaned, stretched her hands behind her back and flinched as she heard several vertebrae crack. Exhaling, she slumped back over her desk, stuck her glasses back on her beak. She studied the latest chemical equation which had been hastily scribbled on the jumbled page before her. She shook her head. No. no, that just wouldn't work. She looked over her messily written work. Sighing, she crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it in the general direction of the trash can, where it joined others, clustered on the floor around the garbage.  
  
The short scientist stood up and walked past a table sporting a delicate array of carefully treated chemicals, to one of the wide windows. She looked at the clock. 12:45. It was quiet on this part of the University of St. Canard campus. All the science buildings save for hers were dark. The occasional car drove by. She thought nothing of the van parked across the street, where that part of campus ended and the outside world of St. Canard began. She glanced back at the table of chemicals. No answer was forthcoming from the assortment of powders and liquids. Perhaps she wasn't meant to find an answer. Maybe there was fate after all, and hers did not involve finishing the project. Would that be so bad? Perhaps this was the sign that the undertaking of this project was too risky to begin with, and she should just drop the whole damn thing.  
  
No. she shook her head, her light brown hair falling over her eyes. No, she was going to finish this. she couldn't be defeated like that. She was too smart, too clever. Why, what was the world coming to when the greatest researcher in St. Canard quit? Chaos, that was what it would come to. It was late, she was tired, and her brain had been working in overdrive for more than 16 hours. She would go home, get some food and some sleep, and return to the lab later, with a fresh mind and the drive to discover.  
  
There was no warning, no anticipation for the blast. All she saw was a flash of light before darkness, and a blooming flower of fire emerged from the building, illuminating the night, challenging the cold stars above.  
  
**************** WA HA HA HAAAA!! I love being evil! Evilness! Nya hah! I certainly hope to get reviews! If I don't get reviews, I'm forwarding all my spam from hotmail to Roamingtigress, Spug and the Lauderdale!! Actually, I probably won't, but I still want reviews! Pleeeeez? Um, I realize that there's probably not much to review at this point, but I'm still going to complain about it. no, I havn't matured over the summer. 


	2. The Second Move

Dangerous Games: The Second Move  
  
by Tinselcat  
  
Rated: PG-13 for a little violence  
  
Summary: DW investigates  
  
Disclaimer: St. Canard, Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack is a creation and property of myself.  
  
Note: okay, so originally this fic was just going to be a mystery with a nice chunk of self-reflection for DW, but I decided to combine this one with a slash fic I was planning on doing, about Bushroot and Steelbeak. Granted, this fic is going to be longer and more complicated than I originally planned for, but let's just say the plot is that much thicker. So, anyway, here's the forewarning for some slash which will be coming into the story.  
  
***************** ******************  
  
Drake shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen, his morning auto-pilot bringing him straight to the coffeemaker. The back of his mind warned him that this was Launchpad's coffee, and should be labeled toxic and hazerdous to your health, but his brain was still asleep.  
  
"hey dad!" gosalyn's voice came from the living room.  
  
"gnnmm." he grumbled, pouring the thick sludge at the bottom of the pot into a mug.  
  
"dad! C'mere! Quick!"  
  
he took a sip of the coffee, and promptly fell over.  
  
"daddadadadadaaaaad!! Look at what's on the news!"  
  
dusting himself off, he stood up and stepped cautiously away from the dark brown puddle that was industriously eating a hole in his kitchen floor. "I know what's on the news, gos. 'Darkwing Duck saves the day once again", I was at that gang fight last night, or don't you recall staying up until I got home against my expressed wishes?"  
  
"this is something else dad. There was a big explosion at the University of St. Canard"  
  
curious, Drake padded into the living room and looked at the tv while gosalyn turned up the volume.  
  
". . . explosion at 12:47 last night," came the voice of the morning newscaster, "here's the footage taken from the scene," the picture on the screen changed from the reporter to a smoking building, surrounded by sirens and flashing lights. The side of the Life Sciences building was completely blown away, revealing innards of torn wiring, scorched tables and broken glass glittering like confetti.  
  
The reporter whom the camera was following wound her way through the various vehicles, avoiding the wary cops who were guarding the perimeter. "so far there have been reports of only three injuries, no deaths, though firemen are still sweeping the scene." The reporter hurried up to the open back of an ambulance where a figure sat, huddled in a blanket. "miss! Miss, were you at the site of the explosion? What can you tell us?" the reporter thrust a microphone toward the beak of the trembling duck woman. The medical technician tried to wave her away, but was distracted by the gashes on the victim's face.  
  
"w-what?" the woman raised her head.  
  
"oh god. . ." whispered Drake, recognizing her, "that's Dr. Quack. . ."  
  
"what can you tell us about the explosion?"  
  
the scientist blinked uncomprehendingly, still in an obvious state of shock, "I. . . I. . ."  
  
"how close to the scene were you?"  
  
"uh. . ."  
  
"can you tell us exactly what happened?"  
  
"s-someone blew up my lab. . ." were her only words before a policeman ushered the reporter away.  
  
"reporting live from the University of St. Canard, this is-"  
  
Drake took the remote and muted the tv.  
  
"isn't that that lady who made the time machine?" asked gosalyn, munching on her toast.  
  
"yes, it is. She was kind of a nutcase." He sat down beside his daughter.  
  
"what do you think happened?"  
  
he stood back up, striking a pose, "Darkwing Duck is about to find that out!"  
  
"can I come?"  
  
"no."  
  
****************  
  
Darkwing sped down the street on his Ratcatcher, feeling exposed and a bit vulnerable in the daylight. He much preferred racing about at night, when shadows could hide his movements, to running about where anyone might see him. ignoring his misgivings, he pulled up beside the site of the explosion, exchanged his helmet for his fedora and ducked under the yellow 'crime scene' tape. He marched up to the nearest police man, who towered over his diminutive frame, and, with some difficulty and jumping up-and- down, tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
"eh?"  
  
"who is the officer in charge of this case?"  
  
"oh, Darkwing Duck, huh?" the cop drew himself up, creating a veritable wall in front of the intrepid hero, "I'm afraid dis is police business. civilians aren't allowed on the scene. I'm gonna have to ask you ta leave." He pointed, with a log-like arm, to the perimeter.  
  
"I think not! would you dare detain the daring doer of dashing deeds?"  
  
"nope, but I don't have any problem with kicking a puny cop-wannabe in the tail!"  
  
"I'll have you know that I-" he didn't have a chance to finish as he was plucked up easily by the scruff of the neck. He waved his arms wildly, "put me down, you stupid oaf! Don't you realize who I am? I'm-"  
  
"Darkwing Duck! Jeezus, took you long enough to get here." an German shepherd, who Darkwing supposed was the head investigator, in a long trenchcoat trotted forward, "you can put him down, Mac,"  
  
"The chief isn't gonna like this. . ." growled Mac.  
  
"I don't give a damn what the chief likes. He can kiss my furry tail, put the damn duck down."  
  
Mac grumbled and dropped Darkwing on the ground.  
  
Darkwing drew himself up and brushed the dirt off his uniform, "hmph, is this how you treat preservers of the law around here?"  
  
"I'm a preserver of the law, you're lucky the chief isn't here to chew you out for investigating the scene. Technically, you are a civilian."  
  
Darkwing muttered to himself, but didn't contradict the detective.  
  
"anyway, I'm Detective Rollins, heading the case. I figured you'd be here sooner or later. To tell you the truth, I think we'll need your help with this one, whatever the chief may think. The guy's got a stick so far up his ass, it's lodged in his esophagus." Grumbled Rollins, leading Darkwing over to the shattered building, where several uniforms with tweezers and plastic bags were bagging evidence. Darkwing felt a twang of sympathy for the injured scientist as he saw an officer bagging the twisted remnants of her wire-framed glasses.  
  
Darkwing turned back to Rollins, "I don't recall seeing you in St. Canard before."  
  
"just transferred here from Duckburg," He grunted "didn't take long for me to find out about your reputation."  
  
"ah, I suppose my fans have once more been gushing over my daring deeds and dashing good-looks, as well as my superior intellect and arrest record. . ."  
  
"most people seem to be under the impression that you're a first-class nutcase."  
  
"what?!"  
  
"in fact, Dr. Grant, the criminal psychologist at the precinct, thinks you ought to go in for some serious counseling."  
  
"damned back-stabbers. After everything I do for *them*!" grumbled Darkwing. He nearly plowed into Rollins when the detective abruptly stopped.  
  
"here's the origin of the explosion. We're standing in what used to be a supply closet."  
  
Darkwing nodded and surveyed the circumference of the damage from where he stood. "limited range of damage, I'd say."  
  
Rollins nodded, "yeah, but pretty destructive in and of itself. I recognized the remnants of the bomb. It was on a timer. It was also specially designed to do the maximum amount of damage in the minimum of space. In this case, the target space was Ms. Quack's laboratory," he indicated with his finger, "the adjacent office of the biology professor, the classroom on the other side of this wall, and the hallway right outside the room."  
  
Darkwing nudged a melted computer processor with his foot, "looks like they were trying to destroy something in the lab."  
  
"or someone."  
  
Darkwing sharply looked up at the detective, "you think this was a murder attempt."  
  
"hard to say," said Rollins, continuing to lead Darkwing through the wreckage, "at that time of night, the building was nearly empty."  
  
"have you got the report of the people in the building at that time?"  
  
"yeah. One late-night janitor, a student and Dr. Quack."  
  
"I assume you're suspecting that the doctor was the target."  
  
"it seems so."  
  
"have you interviewed her yet?"  
  
"yeah, and she hasn't exactly been forthcoming."  
  
"how so?"  
  
"well, she says she can't think of anyone who would have reason to harm her, and that she was in the lab late that night working on a project commissioned by St. Canard Power, something having to do with renewable energy sources."  
  
"why would someone want to halt a project having to do with renewable energy?" Darkwing asked to himself, squinting at the sky in thought.  
  
"beats me. I get the feeling that little miss victim is hiding something. . ."  
  
Darkwing sighed. He had a feeling that this case was going to be a hard one. . .  
  
*************************  
  
Bushroot puttered contentedly among his plants, Spike constantly at his heels. He watered his beloved plants tenderly, murmuring to them occasionally. On a whim, he switched on the sun-lamps. The weather had been rather wet and cloudy lately, and sun exposure had been limited. The botanist sensed that his babies were missing the light. He hummed a bit and patted spike on the head, surveying his work. All input told him that his plants were content for now. he gave a small nod. His eye gravitated toward a newspaper clipping he'd tacked to a wall. The headline read "Steelbeak Acquitted for Involvement in Smuggling Case". It featured a picture of the suave rooster smiling at the camera, giving it a saucy wink.  
  
*MY suave rooster. . .* thought Bushroot. He smiled. He hadn't seen Steelbeak in a few weeks, as he'd been out of town, Bushroot tactfully neglecting to ask him what business he was attending to. Now that his trial, which had been clean and short, lacking in any significant evidence, was over, Bushroot was looking forward to spending some quality time with the agent. Was it really only a month since that incident involving that explosion at the chemistry lab and Steelbeak's embarrassed plead for aid from the botanist? It felt like longer. . . Bushroot relished in the tingling feeling of anticipation, never knowing when Steelbeak might show up in his jazzy car and demand a snog-and-cuddle.  
  
Suddenly, the sound of glass breaking filled the air. Bushroot ducked down as the jagged shards flew past his head. Several men in black fatigues jumped through the shattered windows. Wordlessly, Bushroot made a hand motion, and green vines, like so many snakes, wound their way over to the intruders, snagging arm and leg alike. Several of the strangers pulled out spray cans and let loose on the vines, which withered under the assault.  
  
"w-who are you?" Bushroot tried, in vain, to keep his voice from trembling.  
  
Before he could do anything else, he was grabbed by the arms, and a heavy blow landed on the back of his head. He went limp.  
  
"are you sure this is the one?" asked one of the faceless figures.  
  
"how many green plant-duck hybrids do you see wandering around the city? Of course it's him, moron!"  
  
"that was almost too easy." Grunted another, standing over the struggling, netted form of spike.  
  
"come one, let's get him back to the boss, and get our money."  
  
With their prone charge, the group left the broken greenhouse and disappeared into the darkness of the night.  
  
************  
  
there! Dr. Quack isn't dead, so the Lauderdale can't kill me. (er. . . please don't kill me. . .) you know, getting my ass kicked has an adverse affect on my ability to write. So there! *runs away screaming* 


	3. Bishop Takes Pawn

Dangerous Games: Bishop Takes Pawn  
  
by Tinselcat  
  
Rated: R, as the violence has gone up a notch. Also, a fair chunk of dirty language.  
  
Summary: a captured Bushroot faces his fate, and Steelbeak gets very, very angry.  
  
Disclaimer: St. Canard, Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack, Christine and Investigator Rollins are creations and property of myself.  
  
Note: oy, I just spent, like, an hour cranking this chapter out. I just had a ton of ideas and seemed to be on a writing streak, so I went to it with vigor. Whew, nothin' wears you out like marathon typing, let me tell you. This chapter reflects a bit on events that took place in "Steel(beak) Magnolias" but I wouldn't worry about reading it if you haven't already. Not a big deal.  
  
***************** Bushroot's eyes slowly fluttered open. He winced and immediately closed them against the harsh, hot light shining onto him.  
  
"He's waking up, boss." Said a faceless, gravely voice.  
  
"good. I'll be right over."  
  
A large hand seized Bushroot's face, forcing it upwards so the light streamed through his eyelids. "rise and shine, buttercup." The voice growled.  
  
Slowly, cautiously, Bushroot opened his eyes. He stared into the small, narrowly-spaced eyes of a bulky, muscular rat. He tried to wrench his face out of the rat's tight grip, only succeeding in prompting the veritable monolith of a rodent to dig his claws in deeper. The rat smiled as Bushroot twisted his hands and feet, a look of chagrin coming over his face when he realized he was tied to a chair.  
  
"that will be enough, Trevor." Said the second voice, which was calm, collected and utterly cold.  
  
The rat released his painful grip and stepped aside. Eclipsing the harsh light which shone in Bushroot's eyes was the round face of a portly duck. His feathers were obviously thinning, and his small eyes were watery behind round spectacles. "good morning, Dr. Bushroot. I trust you. . . heh. . . slept well." he took a handkerchief out of his lab-coat pocket and mopped his brow nervously, his eyes traveling over the prone scientist, as if probing for weaknesses.  
  
"what do you want?" asked Bushroot hoarsly, the corners of his eyes taking in his surroundings: a large room which looked like an old science lab, filled with rows of tables and broken glass, along with some old, dusty equipment. The only recent additions to the space seemed to be themselves as well as several sharp instruments and unlabeled bottles on a nearby table.  
  
The duck clutched a clipboard, his eyes darting toward the table where Bushroot's stare gravitated. "ah, of course, you, eh, want to know why you're here, hm?" he gave a chuckle, "I'm aware of your reputation, er, Dr. Bushroot. Used to be quite good in your, heh, field of research, despite your collegues. I'm surprised you don't recognize me, your old, heh, 'partner in crime' so to speak."  
  
Bushroot's eyes widened as he recognized the project director who had been fired from the company because of questionable experiments he was conducting, "Dr. White. . ."  
  
"in the, er, flesh." The duck shifted his weight and mopped his brow again. "well, I do regret having to impose on you like this, but I believe you, hm, have some information that I'd like."  
  
Bushroot glanced nervously at Trevor, who was pacing back and forth behind the doctor, and at the table with its ominous contents.  
  
"I do hope your cooperation will render certain, hm, persuasions unnecessary."  
  
"w-what do you want to know?" Bushroot's eyes remained glued to the table. Trevor grinned.  
  
"you have been witnessed associating with a, er, Dr. Kamo Quack. Now, this lady is, I fear, conducting some, hm, research that it is prudent for me and my, er, collegue to know about."  
  
Bushroot looked back at Dr. White and shook his head, "I-I've consulted her on a project of my own, but really, I have no idea what she's working on independently. I-I really wouldn't be the one to ask about all this."  
  
Dr. White shook his head and Trevor snickered. "what do you want first, boss?"  
  
Bushroot's captor waved aside his assistant, "I really wish you would not make this so, hm, hard on yourself. But do not think that I will, ahem, hesitiate to use extreme methods to persuade this information from you."  
  
"look, I really don't know." Bushroot began to sweat beneath the hot light, the first swells of panic gripping his stomach.  
  
"that is. . . hm, regretful. . ." the doctor wiped his sweating brow and turned away, walking to the table where the instruments were laid out. After inspecting them, he picked up a scalpel.  
  
"w-wait! Wait!" Bushroot cried suddenly, memory hitting him like a sledgehammer, "I remember something she was working on! it was a time machine!"  
  
"do you take me for a, hm, fool?"  
  
"no, no, she really was. But she destroyed it, it doesn't exist anymore."  
  
"I'm afraid you'll have to do, ahem, better than that."  
  
Bushroot squirmed in his seat, trying in vain to put the maximum distance between himself and the approaching doctor, "no, honestly, that's all I know!"  
  
"that's old news, I'm afraid. Trevor,"  
  
the rat stepped forward, "yeah boss."  
  
"observe closely, the first cut is not in too vulnerable an area. you don't want to, er, give it to them all at once, so to speak. A shoulder should do nicely." With those words, he slowly, studiously traced a cut from Bushroot's neck to his bicep.  
  
Bushroot made a strangled sound in his throat.  
  
"don't progress too, ahem, swiftly, as the victim may pass out." With those words, and several deft wrist movements, two slash marks appeared on Bushroot's stomach.  
  
"I told you everything I know!" the botanist's words came out in a sob as pain burned through his body, "please don't. . ."  
  
Bushroot's blood ran cold at the emotionless voice his captor used to talk to his protégé, "well, it seems that this one is hardly, hm, a 'softie', so to speak. We will move on to the more vulnerable areas, and if he continues to resist, we will move on to experiment with my specially treated, hm, chemical pesticides."  
  
With a sorrowful moan, Bushroot sagged in his bonds, knowing that the worst was yet to come and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.  
  
********************  
  
Dr. Quack sighed as she opened the usually locked door to her apartment, her head still spinning slightly from the mass of paperwork she had had to fill out at the hospital before they'd released her. She couldn't help feeling frustrated, although she had expected this. she flicked the light- switch on, finding her apartment torn apart, furniture overturned, papers spread about like large snowflakes, even her kitchen cabients hadn't escaped the furtive search. She glanced at the blank space on her desk where her laptop should have been sitting. They'd even taken that. No matter. There wasn't anything they could get from its hard-drive anyway that could be of any use to them. she unconsciously fingered the cd case sitting in her jacket pocket, protecting its precious contents.  
  
She closed the door, locking it behind her. Turning furniture upright as she went, she headed toward the phone. She picked up the receiver, hardly needing to think as her fingers dialed a familiar number, despite the fact that she hadn't used it in a long time.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"if you're going to search my apartment, at least do it professionally. There was no need to trash the place." Her voice was hard and steady, but with a boiling anger just underneath the surface.  
  
"ah, I apologise for that, but you know thugs these days, they all leave a mess, no matter how much you pay them."  
  
"but nevertheless, the search was in vain. . ."  
  
"indeed. I feel foolish to have underestimated you after all these years, Kammie-"  
  
"don't call me that."  
  
The voice on the other line gave an almost fond chuckle, "I see I havn't given you the professional respect you deserve. You can still save yourself all this grief. You know what I want. You realize what we could accomplish together?"  
  
"you honestly think I'd ever trust you after everything you've done?"  
  
"no, not really, but there's no harm in asking."  
  
"you tried to kill me. . ."  
  
"you really think I had anything to do with that explosion? How *could* you?"  
  
"BULLSHIT!!" she yelled, her voice cracking with emotion.  
  
"you've proved stronger than I thought." The voice which, until now, had been dignified and pleasant, suddenly darkened, "perhaps killing you is not the answer. But rest assured, I will find out what you've been up to, you can play all the little games you wish. I have an ace up my sleeve, my dear." He spat the last word at her.  
  
"you wish, you bastard. . ." she gritted her teeth together.  
  
"have you accounted for the whereabouts of your confidantes?"  
  
"what?"  
  
"I'd either cooperate, or leave town. You'd do well to consider your priorities. You're treading on very thin ice. . . Kammie. . ." before she could retort, there was a click, and the only sound was a dial tone.  
  
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!" she screamed and slammed the phone back into the cradle. She slowly sank to her knees, putting her hands over her bandaged face, struggling to quell the tears which threatened to spill forth. Her face ached. Her apartment was freezing, due to the wide-open windows. She shivered, putting her arms around herself.  
  
*'confidantes'. . . what the hell was that asshole talking about? I have no confidantes. No one knows about it but me. . . I told no one. . . no one. . .* she thought to herself. *he's pulling bunnies from a hat. . . that's all it is, tricks to catch me off-guard. Well, it won't work.* she stood up, a terrible smile lighting her face, "you're going to get what's coming to you. . . *friend*. . . oh ho, yes indeed. . ." she growled. Encouraged by her new resolve, she set about cleaning her apartment, comforting thoughts of revenge dancing before her mind's eye.  
  
*************  
  
Steelbeak stole a fourth look at himself in the rearview mirror. *still lookin' hot, my good boid.* he thought to himself. Casually, he pressed down on the accelerator, steering with one hand on the wheel, the other thrown over the back of the seat. The car he was passing honked angrily at him. he flashed the driver a pleasant smile before swerving in front of them, cutting them off. No, nothing could spoil his mood tonight, especially not washed-up old snail-drivers. His Porsche wove through them like an army trainee through an obsticle course. Steelbeak glanced at the passenger seat. One dozen red roses in white paper sat there, adding a splash of color to the black leather, while at the same time matching his car's professional paint job. *classy, if I do say so myself* he wasn't sure how the plant-duck would react to the sight of cut flowers, but Steelbeak had no doubts that if anyone could take a dozen cut roses and turn them into a dozen heathy rosebushes, Reginald Bushroot could. Steelbeak hoped Bushroot was up for dinner. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, and longing had settled into Steelbeak's stomach. He could almost feel Bushroot's own need. *well, dey say absence makes da 'eart grow strongah.*  
  
Steelbeak pulled up in front of Bushroot's greenhouse, and immediately knew something was wrong. The building was dark, and Spike was sitting in front of it, head bowed. As Steelbeak approached, the mutated plant began barking angrily, but quiteted down once it recognized Steelbeak. The two had previously reached a grudging agreement: Spike didn't bite Steelbeak, Steelbeak wouldn't bite back.  
  
Steelbeak broke into a run when he saw the broken glass. He entered the building through the busted doorway, glass shards crackling underfoot. The place was in shambles, and Bushroot was nowhere to be found. Swearing, he cast about for the large bush in which Bushroot always kept a camera trained on the length of the greenhouse, his fail-safe in case the place was raided by anyone trying to steal his research. Steelbeak found the bush, its pot overturned, a broken cord trailing from the back, hardly noticeable in the evening light. He rummaged through the leaves until he found the camera. Tucking it under his arm, he ran past the mourning Spike and jumped into his car, depositing the device in the passenger's seat, careful not to crush the roses. Growling with anger, he sped out of the driveway, and headed for the 'on' ramp which would bring him onto the highway, and toward F.O.W.L. headquarters. He picked up his cell phone and hastily dialed F.O.W.L.'s audio-video labs.  
  
"hello?"  
  
"'ey, is dis Christine?"  
  
"Steelbeak?"  
  
"yeah. Look, I gots a project for ya, babe. I need youse ta analyze a videotape fer me. think youse can 'andle dat?"  
  
"what do you take me for? A nursing-home patient?" the voice on the other line sniffed.  
  
"I knew I c'n count on youse, baby. I'll be dere in ten." He honked on his horn and cut off someone trying to enter his lane "LEARN 'OW TA DRIVE, JACK- ASS! Yo, Christine?"  
  
"still here."  
  
"make dat five." He pressed the 'end' button and hung up the phone. Whoever had taken Bushroot had better be making their peace, because he was angry and ready to rumble.  
  
*******************  
  
Bushroot trembled. His eyes stared blankly ahead of him and he slumped in his chair. Parts of his skin still steamed from the last dose of acidic chemicals which had been applied to it.  
  
Dr. White wiped his brow, "well this is, hm, unusual."  
  
"whadda we do now?"  
  
"we, er, come to the conclusion that he is telling the truth or, hm, or we let him rest and try again. At this point, however, I doubt that there's anything he can tell us. You may call command to inform them that this one, ahem, knows nothing."  
  
"what do we do with 'im?"  
  
"perhaps, hm, keep him around. For practice purposes. You must, er, hone your skill." He rubbed his hands and glanced about. He stepped toward Bushroot and grasped the hybrid's chin, raising his head. "finished screaming, eh?"  
  
Bushroot gave a small whimper, his eyes unfocused, eyelids fluttering as he teetered on the verge of unconsciousness.  
  
"perhaps you should, hm, get used to it." Dr. White allowed himself a nervous chuckle as he released the botanist's head, which fell back down to his chest.  
  
"hey boss, didja hear that?"  
  
"hear what, exactly?"  
  
"I think someone is here-"  
  
suddenly, the far wall exploded inward, scattering debris across the floor. Several grenade-like objects skittered across the floor, and the room filled with smoke. Through the haze, the two kidnappers could just make out the shadowy silhouettes of troops in yellow suits and helmets. A distinct, commanding voice cut through the smoke.  
  
"get dose two guys. Don' kill 'em, dough, leave dat ta me. and find da duck, 'es in 'ere somewheres. I don' care what youse do to da guards."  
  
In the confusion, Dr. White, surprisingly swift for his size, darted away from the sounds of tromping combat-boots, finding the back door. He silently slipped through.  
  
When the smoke finally thinned, it revealed two eggmen dragging away the unconscious Trevor, and tying up several guards who would awake with terrible headaches.  
  
Steelbeak, in a black coverall, his utility belt heavy with weapons, made a beeline toward the still figure in the chair. He knelt in front of it and took Bushroot's head gently in his hands, "Bushroot? Hey, Reggie, can you 'ear me?" he shuddered, a chill lancing down his spine, as he saw the slash marks which oozed blood, as well as the areas of brown, shrivled skin which marked the burns. Bushroot's skin was rough and dry, the areas around his eyes and joints browning from lack of water and time spent under the nutrient-less light.  
  
A lump lodged in Steelbeak's throat as he took it all in, and he struggled to keep his emotions inside, since throwing a temper tantrum would do nothing for his prone friend. As gently as possible, he cut Bushroot's bonds and gingerly picked up the scientist. He was frighteningly light. Steelbeak held him as if he may shatter at any moment.  
  
The eggman in charge of the squad marched up to him, "the rat is incapacitated, as are the guards. The duck escaped in the confusion. Your orders, sir?"  
  
"leave dose suckahs where da police'll find 'em and den 'ead back to base. I want ta find out who da 'ell dat duck was, and what 'e was up to. Put Christine on it, tell 'er I sent ya. I want dis guy found, and I want ta know exactly when dat 'appens. Youse got it?"  
  
"got it." the eggman threw a smart salute and marched off, gesturing to his troops and barking orders.  
  
Steelbeak walked silently away, still cradling Bushroot against him, toward his hummer, which he reserved for occasions that may damage a good paint job.  
  
"whoever you are, youse're gonna get what's comin' to ya." He addressed the open air, staring upwards at the faint stars, partially obscured by the city lights, as if they were challenging him, "I 'ope you don't 'ave any long-toim plans fer da future, 'cause yer gonna get yours. . . oh yeah, youse cointenly will. . ."  
  
************************  
  
okay, I know I was mean to Bushroot in this chapter *cringes* please don't hurt me! ya, anyways, I'm taking this oppertunity to harass Roaming Tigress about "Unfinished Business". WRITE MORE!! I'M DYIN'!!!  
  
and REVIEW! Reviewreviewreview! I realize that the Lauderdale and Roaming Tigress are the only two people actually reading this fic, but that means that you two are under more of an obligation to review, as no one else is! And if you aren't one of the ladies mentioned above, REVIEW!! I GET CRAZY WHEN I DON'T GET REVIEWS!! ANYONE CAN TELL YOU THAT! I'M GOING TO STOP SHOUTING NOW!  
  
*whew* okay, I'm done ranting now. don't hurt me. 


	4. White Castle Engages White King

Dangerous Games: White Castle Engages White King  
  
by Tinselcat  
  
Rated: this chapter is more PG-13ish.  
  
Summary: Steelbeak confronts Darkwing, Darkwing encounters Morgana, and does some heavy thinking.  
  
Disclaimer: St. Canard, DarkwingDuck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack, Christine and Investigator Rollins are creations and property of myself.  
  
Note: sorry this chapter took so long in coming, but I for a while I just couldn't really write, and when I finally got my mojo back, I wanted to finish up another fanfic so I could focus more energy on this one. since this one is the only one I'm working on right now, I should be able to get more chapters out quicker. Or maybe I'll be a lazy-ass about it. time will tell.  
  
*****************  
  
The wind whipped against Darkwing's face as he sped along the dark streets of St. Canard at night. The wild whipping of his cape mildly stung his legs, and his fingers were starting to cramp from their long hold on the handle-bars, but his mind was far away, in a laboratory at the other end of the city, perusing the near-empty room and its sole occupant. He patrolled the quieter, less active streets tonight, needing to clear his head and get some thinking done. Detective Rollins was still running the background check on Ms. Quack, and had found nothing unexpected the last time they'd spoken.  
  
"what can I say?" The investigator's words floated back to him, "She's always been on the right side of the law, no criminal record, no suspicious activity, and no known enemies. Looks like she kept a low-profile."  
  
"than what possible motivation could this abhorrent arsonist have against her?"  
  
"you got me. we're still running the check, but I'm leaning toward either a competitor for her research, or possibly a religious zealot who has a problem with genetics and evolution."  
  
Darkwing snorted to himself. The police. . . useless.  
  
So wrapped in his own, crime-solving world was he, that Darkwing didn't notice the black hummer pulling right in his path. Jerking in surprise, he swerved the bike quickly, the tires screeching on the pavement before the Ratcatcher fell on its side, trapping Darkwing's leg beneath it, the crime- fighter's gas-gun skittering away. Darkwing managed to pull himself out from beneath the bike without braking anything, just in time to look up and into the barrel of a gun.  
  
"Stan' up, and stick yer 'ands in de air." demanded a heavily accented voice.  
  
Darkwing slowly stood and faced Steelbeak, keeping his eyes glued to the gun as he raised his hands above his head.  
  
Steelbeak gestured toward his unharmed hummer "get in da driver's side and go where I tells ya."  
  
"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, you vicious villain, but-"  
  
"shaddap and go!" snarled the rooster, prodding Darkwing once.  
  
Throwing Steelbeak a glare that clearly conveyed his opinions on the subject "fair play", Darkwing got into the driver's side, taking care to buckle his seatbelt.  
  
"toin it on, an' drive." Commanded Steelbeak from the passenger's side.  
  
************************  
  
DarkwingDuck stumbled up the back stairs of the posh apartment building, being roughly pushed from behind by a gun pressed to his lower back and a firm grip on his shoulder. He growled and tried to pull away for argument's sake, although he knew that the rooster not only outweighed him by at least 70 pounds, but underneath his tailored Armani lay hard muscles which could pound him into the nearest hard object if they so desired.  
  
He was urged down a hallway, the lights still bright through the night, although it was devoid of people, all reasonable citizens already having bedded down for the night, safe inside their apartments, with nary a thought that there could be a criminal next door.  
  
Darkwing scarcely had time to gawk at Steelbeak's apartment before he was ushered into the bathroom.  
  
"Now, will you tell me what the heck is-"  
  
Steelbeak shoved him over to the bathtub where he looked into it.  
  
"did youse 'ave any'ting ta do wid dis?" Steelbeak's normally loud and boisterous voice was dangerously low.  
  
Darkwing's throat closed at what he beheld: Bushroot, seeming thinner than normal, lay prone underneath a light spray of water coming from the shower head. It beaded on his abused body, the normal healthy green of his skin taking a distinct brownish tone, his unruly purple hair wilted over his eyes. His chin rested on his chest. Ugly scars, like remnants of earthquakes in a dying landscape, cris-crossed his chest, shoulders and arms. Even more chilling was the precise layout of them, which clearly said that they had been deliberately inflicted by someone.  
  
"oh god. . ." was the only thing he could whisper. Unconsciously, he stepped back, leaning against Steelbeak's broad chest, "god. . ."  
  
"do you know any'ting about dis?"  
  
"I. . . I. . ." his eyes were still glued to Bushroot's limp form.  
  
"WELL?!"  
  
Darkwing jumped and whirled about to face his longtime enemy, "how could you possibly think that I would have anything to do with. . . to do with. . ." he made vague motions with his hands toward the bathtub, "I would *never*! *ever*! It's. . . it's abhorrent!" he shuddered and looked away.  
  
Steelbeak seemed to all at once deflate, his energy leaving him. He knelt on the steps that led to the large tub and stroked the botanist's cheek with the back of a hand. "well, it looks like I won't be pumpin' ya full 'a led after all, Darkwing. Youse gots lucky dis time." his eyes never left Bushroot as he spoke to Darkwing.  
  
Feeling as if he were intruding upon something, Darkwing exited the bathroom, entering the living room again. Just as he thought his life was getting together, what with this nice, old-fashioned mystery to solve, things got complicated again. Bushroot and Steelbeak? Who would have thought? Not him, not in a million years. . . but when? And how? Perhaps he'd never know.  
  
He heard Steelbeak enter the room behind him. "All right, let's talk deal." said the rooster as Darkwing turned to look at him.  
  
somehow emboldened by Steelbeak's resumption of his usual demeanor, Darkwing crossed his arms over his chest, which he stuck out as much as possible. "deal? with you? what kind of a fool do you take me for, Steelbeak?"  
  
Steelbeak coughed.  
  
Darkwing ignored him. "Why would I ever cut a deal with a slimy scoundrel such as yourself?"  
  
"yer on dat case 'aving ta do wid dat explosion at da university, right?"  
  
"maybe."  
  
"yeah, you are" stated Steelbeak.  
  
"fine. What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"I t'ink we can 'elp each-odda out here. I want ta find da bastard who did dis ta Bushroot. You want ta find da bastard who blew da university. I've got connections in places you don't, and vice-versa. Whaddaya say?" Steelbeak crossed his own arms and raised an eyebrow at Darkwing, looking down at the shorter bird over his gleaming beak.  
  
"I say that I *don't* deal with villains, and I certainly don't need to!"  
  
"you coiten about dat?"  
  
"I have never been more certain in my life!"  
  
Steelbeak scowled at him for a moment, then his face relaxed. He smile sarcastically and gestured toward the door, "well, if dat's 'ow ya feel about it."  
  
Darkwing opened the door and went through it.  
  
"oh, one more t'ing, dipwing,"  
  
"what?" growled Darkwing.  
  
Steelbeak walked up to him until they were mere inches apart, using his towering height to its full effect, "when youse come crawlin' back 'ere, beggin fer my 'elp on dis case 'a yours. . ." Steelbeak thrust his face into Darkwing's "you'd better be beggin' on yer knees." He abruptly slammed the door in Darkwing's face.  
  
"jackass." Grumbled Darkwing under his breath as he walked down the hall. However, he couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty and the premonition that he had yet to see the last of Steelbeak while on this case.  
  
*************  
  
"hey dad, how was your night?" Gosalyn bounced into the kitchen, her red ponytail swinging enthusiastically from side-to-side.  
  
"guuuh. . ." replied Drake from the kitchen table.  
  
"hey, launchpad said he was going to go fix the ratcatcher. What happened to it?"  
  
Drake flinched at the memory, "naaagh. . ."  
  
"hey dad, I think we're having some serious communication problems here."  
  
"hmph." He sipped his coffee.  
  
"dad. Dad. Dadadadadadadadaaaad. DAD!"  
  
"HE WAS DRIVING A HUMMER! WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!?" cried out Drake, banging his forehead on the table-top.  
  
"I think you've had enough coffee, dad." Gosalyn carefully extracted the mug from her father's limp fingers. "I'm going to school now, don't worry, launchpad packed me a lunch last night." she cautiously patted him on the head. "have a nice day."  
  
Drake gave a half-hearted wave in her direction "havva nice day a'school, honey. . ."  
  
"sure thing dad."  
  
"walk safely. . ."  
  
"sure thing."  
  
"try not to beat anyone up today."  
  
"daaaaaa-yaaaaaad!"  
  
Drake lifted his head, "you don't love me, do you?"  
  
Gosalyn rolled her eyes. When her dad was in one of these moods, there was no reasoning with him. "bye dad." She made a hasty exit.  
  
"my life is. . . my life is. . . I suck!" he complained to no one in particular. When no sympathy came gushing forth from his kitchen appliances, he finally stood up to get dressed, drink more coffee, and take a walk to clear his head.  
  
*******************  
  
"what was I thinking? 'a nice, quiet walk in the park. . .' guh. . ." Drake flinched at the shrieks of yet another group of school children taking a field trip to the park. Children. . . they shouldn't be allowed to travel in packs.  
  
He was still brooding and feeling sorry for himself when he caught sight of a familiar figure. Although dark sunglasses obscured the eyes, and cloaked in a dark trench-coat, the mass of dark hair piled atop a widow's peak made Morgana unmistakable. She had a glower on her face that could have wilted flowers, and hunched her shoulders beneath a large black umbrella.  
  
"Morgana, my dear!" Drake exclaimed, giving her a sweeping bow.  
  
Looking about herself in confusion, Morgana walked into a tree.  
  
"methinks the glasses are a bit too dark, hmm?" Drake took her arm and led her, swearing and rubbing her forehead, away from the offending plant.  
  
"it's this ghastly sunlight, dar- I mean, Drake." She said melodramatically, slipping the glasses off and into her pocket, "it's giving me a migraine like you wouldn't believe. Honestly, I don't see how all these people can stand it."  
  
"insert 'normal people' joke here." said Drake quietly.  
  
"what was that?"  
  
"nothing." He said, suddenly very interested in the cloud formations, "whatever brings you out into the civilized world on this. . . absolutely terrible day?"  
  
"I'm visiting the park gardens, believe it or not. there are some flowers I need for a couple potions I'm working on, that I don't cultivate at home."  
  
"so you're going to uproot a few that, technically, belong to the city. . .?"  
  
"I expect something back for my taxes." She sniffed, leading them into the garden pathways. The rose beds and rare orchids swayed slightly in the breeze, as if a rainbow had spilt on the earth, and rippled like a lake surface in the wind.  
  
"cover me for a second." Morgana commanded as she bent down to neatly clip the blossoms from two of the more rare species of pansies.  
  
"by all rights, I suppose I should stop you." sighed Drake.  
  
"you sound like you have more pressing matters on your mind."  
  
"I'm working on the University case."  
  
"oh, that." Morgana stood up and pocketed the blossoms, leading them toward another flower bed. "I almost called Dr. Quack when I heard about it. . . but I wasn't sure if she'd remember me."  
  
Drake nodded, "it's got me going in circles. There's no reason behind it all."  
  
"you don't have any leads at all?"  
  
"no. the P.D. has done a complete background check and, as of this morning, I've read all of it. it's as if she kept a low profile for the specific purpose of seeming totally inconsequential."  
  
"seems odd. She was boastful, to be sure, but she was pretty brilliant. You'd think she'd have gotten a little more recognition for her accomplishments."  
  
Drake's brow furrowed, "it does seem odd, now that you mention it. . . but why? what am I missing. . .?"  
  
Morgana shrugged and clipped another flower, "have you talked to her?"  
  
"no. the detective in charge did that. He did mention that she was a bit. . . secretive. . ."  
  
Morgana straightened and faced Drake, "well, organize your facts. What do you *know* about this case?"  
  
Drake counted off the facts on his fingers, "well, we know someone tried to kill Dr. Quack, and we know that they haven't tried again. We also know that Dr. Quack is keeping something from us. . ." he looked sharply at Morgana, "perhaps a suspect. . . perhaps she already knows who the culprit is!"  
  
"than why wouldn't she tell the police?"  
  
"why not indeed. . ." Drake mused and stared at the pathway ahead of them, as if it might reveal the answers if he looked at it long enough, "unless. . . unless the culprit has something on her!" he stabbed a forefinger into the air, "something he could tell the police if she blabs!"  
  
"if that's all true, why hasn't this criminal tried to kill her again?"  
  
"because he's smart, see?" Drake waggled his finger in Morgana's face, "the first attempt failed, so he's going to bide his time, be careful, look for another opportunity to strike. . . and he knows he can take his time, because there's nothing Dr. Quack can do about it! my singular intellect has struck again!"  
  
Morgana sighed, "so, what now?"  
  
"what? What do you mean 'what now'?"  
  
"what are you going to do now? you still haven't got the motive, you don't have the suspect, and Dr. Quack isn't talking."  
  
Drake chewed nervously on his thumb, immediately thinking of his last conversation with Steelbeak. Dammit, but the big bird had been right. . . he *did* need outside help on this. . . and if he was dealing with the sort of characters he thought he was dealing with. . . well, he needed the kind of connections that only a villain had. He swore aloud.  
  
"thought of something?"  
  
"yes. . . unfortunately, it's none too appealing."  
  
"what is it?"  
  
Drake thrust his chin out at her, "do your worst, but I'll never tell!"  
  
Morgana rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses, "fine, fine, do what you like. I have my own matters to attend to. if you need my help with anything, don't hesitate to ask."  
  
"thanks." Grumbled Drake, already dreading his upcoming meeting.  
  
************************  
  
well, there you have it. Next chapter: prepare yourself for some home- cooked, old fashioned Darkwing-humiliation. You don't think Steelbeak'll just let this go, do you? didn't think so. Anyway, keep an eye out for the next chap! 


	5. The Strategy of Both Sides

Dangerous Games: The Strategy of Both Sides  
  
by Tinselcat  
  
Rated: this chapter is more PG-13ish.  
  
Summary: Events are speeding up, and out of control, and still our hero is at a loss.  
  
Disclaimer: St. Canard, DarkwingDuck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack and Investigator Rollins are creations and property of myself.  
  
Note: I realize it's been soooooo long since my last update. I have had so much crazy stuff to do on this end, you wouldn't believe it. I also lost some of my inspiration, but I'm approaching a point where I think my writing will flow more naturally, parts where I'm more sure of where I'm going with it. Don't be mad at me!! oh yeah, and just a warning, there's a heavy dose of Darkwing-humiliation in this chap. My evil nature just refuses to be quelled. You have been forewarned.  
  
************************ "what do you mean, 'he didn't know'?"  
  
Dr. White straightened his tie and mopped his sweating brow nervously, "I mean that the, er, botanist couldn't have known about this secret project. If he had, he would have told us. I'm sure of it."  
  
"well, I suppose you know best about these matters. . ." growled White's overbearing companion.  
  
Emboldened, White continued, "if we can just get Quack, she will tell us everything we need to know, she-"  
  
"she will be under the protection of the police and that meddling imbecile Darkwing Duck. Striking at her directly is no longer an option. She knows it. However, she also cannot reveal us to the police. That is, if she values her reputation, not to mention her job. . ."  
  
"than what do you suggest we do?"  
  
"that rooster, the spy, the one who interrupted the interrogation. . . what was his name?"  
  
"er, Steelbeak. We don't want to cross him any more. He works for F.O.W.L.. Had I known that he was, hm, allies with Dr. Bushroot, I wouldn't have taken the job. in fact, I'm not so sure it's, ahem, worth it to me to take these risks. That new detective, Rollins, is no fool. And last time I crossed Darkwing Duck, I had to leave the country, which is beginning to sound like a, hm, a good idea."  
  
"oh, does it?" the voice was too calm, too gentle. "perhaps it would be a good idea for me to give these tapes of your 'interrogation' to the police. . ."  
  
"w-what? You were recording. . ."  
  
"I don't take risks. . . and I don't give up."  
  
"y-you. . . you're going to get us both thrown in jail!"  
  
"stop your senseless blubbering, fool!" the other snarled, "we need to lay low for awhile. Wait until her guard is down."  
  
"what about Darkwing Duck? And Rollins?"  
  
"Darkwing Duck will have his hands full before long. . . that is, if everything goes to plan. As for Rollins. . . I understand he has a family back in Duckburg. If we can't use that to shut him up. . . well, his job is a risky one. Anything is bound to happen."  
  
"and Steelbeak?"  
  
"oh, I think you have more cause to worry about Agent Steelbeak than I do. After all, you were the one who tortured his boyfriend. . ."  
  
********************  
  
Darkwing loathed himself more with every step he took. He counted the stairs as he slowly climbed them, emerging in the plush hallway, at the end of which he knew he would find Steelbeak's apartment. He found himself almost turning back several times, but forced himself on, reviewing his reasons. *need help. Cut a deal with Steelbeak. Need more resources. He's got resources. Need information. Need information really badly. He's got information.* he stopped at the door, nervously tugging on the brim of his hat. He pressed the doorbell button and heard the muffled ring from inside. He glowered at the peephole.  
  
"well well well, what do we 'ave 'ere?" said Steelbeak smugly, opening the door and leaning against the frame casually.  
  
"you've got a conscientious, celebrated crime-fighter on your doorstep, who's going to turn right around if you don't let me in!" Darkwing growled at Steelbeak's grin.  
  
"of course. 'ow in'ospitable of me." he stood aside and let Darkwing through, closing the door behind him. "I gather dere's some'tin' you're wantin' ta ask me. . .?" he raised an impeccably groomed eyebrow.  
  
Darkwing stared at his webbed feet, scuffing them on the expensive carpet, "needyourhelp" he mumbled.  
  
"wat was dat?" Steelbeak gleefully cupped a hand to his ear, "is it my imagination, or is dere a breeze in 'ere?"  
  
Darkwing took off his hat and scowled into Steelbeak's eyes, "I. . . need. . . your. . . help. . ." he paused and took a breath, ". . . please. . ."  
  
Steelbeak looked down at him along his shining beak, "funny, I seem ta recall sayin' some'ting about youse beggin' on yer knees. . ."  
  
thinking of all the nasty words he could, and mentally hurling them at Steelbeak, Darkwing knelt on the carpet. "will you help me?"  
  
"wat's da magic woid?"  
  
"please?" he clenched his jaw to keep his chin from trembling.  
  
"let's see ya grovel a bit, eh?"  
  
screwing his eyes shut, Darkwing braced his palms on the floor and bowed his head, "please help me. . ." his voice cracked with the strain of not launching himself up and throttling Steelbeak then and there. At the sound of softly treading footsteps, he looked up sharply.  
  
Bushroot, his coloring almost completely restored, enveloped in a bathrobe several sizes too large for him, shuffled in, blinking startled eyes at Darkwing.  
  
Steelbeak got an evil glint in his eyes, and grinned frighteningly, "bow at Reggie's feet an' tell 'im dat he's da sexiest duck in St. Canard!"  
  
nearly sobbing, all scraps of dignity long lost, Darkwing flung himself at Bushroot's feet, clutching at the botanist's ankles, "Bushroot, you are by far the sexiest duck ever to grace the great city of St. Canard!"  
  
"apologize to 'im an' ask 'im ta spank ya for always messin' up 'is plans!"  
  
"Bushroot, I am so severely sorry for always messing up your exquisite plans, and I deserve to be punished!" he gave a pleading look at Steelbeak.  
  
"and. . ." the rooster prompted, grinning from ear-to-ear.  
  
"please spank me!"  
  
Bushroot elicited a strange sound which was a combination of a girlish giggle and a villainous snicker.  
  
"whaddaya t'ink? Ya think 'e's sorry?"  
  
"I think he looks pretty sincere. After all, he *is* holding my ankles. . ."  
  
"I'm kinda tempted ta make 'im do a strip tease. . ."  
  
Darkwing gave a small scream.  
  
"I think he's learned his lesson." Said Bushroot, giving another giggle behind one green, leaf-like hand.  
  
"alright, youse can stand up now."  
  
Darkwing did so gratefully, picking up his hat and keeping a wary eye on Steelbeak lest the rooster attempt to put him through any further humiliation.  
  
Contrary to his expectations, Steelbeak walked over to Bushroot, putting a hand around his narrow shoulders, "youse ought'a be restin'. Ya gotta save yer strength until sun-up."  
  
Bushroot leaned against Steelbeak's broad chest, "I'm feeling alright. Just a little tired. I have something to tell Darkwing." His soft eyes shifted to Darkwing's.  
  
"yes. . ." Darkwing ventured cautiously, eyes darting back-and-forth between the odd pair.  
  
"when I was being. . ." Bushroot flinched and looked down. Taking a deep breath, he raised his eyes once more, "when I was being held by Dr. White, they kept asking me about Dr. Quack. She's involved with your investigation, right?"  
  
all thoughts of humiliation banished from his head, Darkwing leaned forward eagerly, "yes, we think someone tried to kill her in the explosion. What did they ask you?"  
  
Bushroot's brows furrowed as he recalled his painful experience, "they thought I was some sort of associate of Dr. Quack's on some secret project she was working on. They kept asking me about it. I got the impression that the only thing they knew was that she was working on something that no one else knew about. Does that help?"  
  
Darkwing began pacing, his eyes focused on the rug, "so she's hiding something. . . something no one else knows about. Something she doesn't want anyone to know about. . . something these guys want. Something they can hold against her. . . but how can they hold it against her if they don't know what it is?"  
  
"don' scuff up my carpet, flippah-feet." Growled Steelbeak.  
  
"maybe they know just enough to incriminate her, and that's why she's not exposing them. . . but why all the questions? What's their motivation? And who wanted to know?"  
  
"um, Darkwing. . ." Bushroot extended his hand.  
  
"not now," snapped Darkwing, still thinking aloud, "why would this project be so important? And who would want to know about a secret project in the first place?"  
  
"er, Darkwing, we already-"  
  
"*not now!!* they're slippery villains, that's to be sure. . . must be skilled in the art of anonymity. Hah, not for long, not while the daring Darkwing Duck is on the case! The rest will fall in place as soon as we find out who wanted the information!" he stabbed a declarative finger in the air triumphantly, beaming at his mystified audience.  
  
"but Darkwing," sighed Bushroot.  
  
"yes?"  
  
"we already know who wanted the information."  
  
The wind seemed to leave Darkwing's sails, "we do?"  
  
"yes, I told you. His name is Dr. White. He was a former collegue of mine, who was expelled from the research team due to his questionable practices. He has a history of them."  
  
Darkwing blinked, "Dr. White? I know him! he skipped the country before we could arrest him! If he's back, that means we can finally get him!"  
  
"well, it seems dat we both want da same t'ing, Darkwing." Commented Steelbeak, a sour expression on his face. He then smiled nastily, "'cept I wan' 'im dead."  
  
"I'll thank you to keep a lid on your temper. You'll recall that, by all rights, I should be arresting you." sniffed Darkwing.  
  
Steelbeak scowled at him, "you'll recall dat, by all rights, youse can't solve dis case wid'out me."  
  
they glared at each other for several moments. Bushroot sighed, then went on tip-toes to peck Steelbeak on his feathery cheek, "I'm going to rest some more."  
  
Steelbeak's "tough guy" facade seemed to melt away as he turned to Bushroot, his expression one of outright adoration, "ya feelin' alright? Need any'ting?"  
  
"no, I'm fine. I just need to sleep."  
  
"you 'ear dat, dopewing? Dat means you keep a lid on da volume!"  
  
"look who's talking!"  
  
"youse want some 'a dis? Come an' get it!"  
  
"ooooh, don't tempt me, you simpering scum!"  
  
Bushroot, tired of the scene, quietly padded off to the bedroom. Seeing that he'd left, Steelbeak immediately rushed after him. Darkwing could hear their voices: Bushroot's quiet and soft, Steelbeak's concerned and sharp. Even now, he could scarcely believe it. he thought that, at this point in his job, he had seen everything. Did the surprises ever stop, or would his life continue to be a wild rollercoaster for the rest of his career as Darkwing duck? Ah well, it'd hardly be worth it if not.  
  
Steelbeak walked out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. "well, wat now?" he asked, folding his arms across his broad chest.  
  
"now," said Darkwing, retrieving his hat and placing it firmly on his head, "we try to find Dr. White. I'll talk to the St. Canard P.D. and get a background check on him, just to cover our bases. And you. . ."  
  
"don' worry 'bout me, I gots my own resources ta use. You do your t'ing, I'll do mine."  
  
"see that you do." Said Darkwing, turning on his heel and marching toward the door.  
  
"oh, and Darkwing," Steelbeak called after him as he paused in the doorway.  
  
"yes?"  
  
"screw dis up, and da local papers'll all be runnin' stories about Darkwing duck beggin' Bushroot fer a little slap an' tickle!"  
  
"you. . . you took pictures. . .?"  
  
"wat da ya take me for, a dope?"  
  
"you wouldn't. . . you wouldn't send pictures to the papers. . ."  
  
"I'm tempted. . ."  
  
"the moment you do, I'm warning you,"  
  
"da moment I do is da moment youse try ta rat me out ta da police. Got it?"  
  
"er, yeah, got it." before he could hear any more blood-chilling threats, he slipped through the door, closing it behind him, and walked hastily down the hall. He jumped about three feet in the air when his cell-phone rang.  
  
************  
  
"There you are," said a familiar gravelly voice coming from the shadows, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."  
  
Darkwing hunched his shoulders against the clammy dampness of the waterfront district and approached the pinpoint of light coming from Detective Rollins' cigarette lighter. His rugged features were briefly illuminated before plunging once more into darkness, his face only marked by the glowing orange end of his cigarette.  
  
"what did you want to talk about and for christ's sake, why did you want to meet in this dump?" he made a face at the stench of old rotted fish and looked longingly at the single, distant street lamp.  
  
"because I'm in deep shit if anyone sees me talking to you." growled Rollins around his cigarette.  
  
"what do you mean?"  
  
"I'm off the case. I've resigned my post."  
  
"what? Why?" Darkwing didn't know Rollins very well, but he did know that, contrary to most of the force, he was willing to work with him. he also seemed to have a shred of intelligence when it came to handling crooks."  
  
"dunno." The canine shrugged, "it just got too much for me. it's. . . eh. . . not my thing."  
  
Darkwing gave Rollins a speculative look, noticing that the cop was refusing to meet his eyes. "what are they holding against you?"  
  
Rollins looked up sharply.  
  
"that's what's going on, right? you've been threatened."  
  
Rollins suddenly grinned and shook his head, sighing, "I didn't give you enough credit, it seems. No, they didn't threaten me. I've got. . . I've got a son who lives with his mom in Duckburg. The bastards have been keeping track of his movements, they sent me photos of him at school, at home. . ." with a disgusted expression on his face, he spat out his cigarette, crushing it into the cracked pavement. He immediately pulled another from the box. Darkwing noticed his hands shaking as he lit it. "they'll kill him. no case is worth my son's life. That's why I wanted to meet you here."  
  
"to tell me?"  
  
"to give you my notes." he pulled a manila envelope from inside his coat, handing it to Darkwing. "this file contains all the info I've gathered, as well as my own deductions."  
  
Darkwing flipped through the pages, an assembly of computer printouts and writing-covered notebook paper of various sizes.  
  
"I gotta go. If they see me talking to you. . ."  
  
"I understand." Darkwing nodded to him.  
  
He turned his back and began walking down the empty street, toward the faint streak of gray just peering over the horizon.  
  
"hey," Darkwing called after him.  
  
"yeah."  
  
"I'm going to get this guy. Don't have any doubts about that. Darkwing Duck never fails!"  
  
"that's what they tell me, buddy, that's what they tell me."  
  
**************  
  
"jeez, there's another explosion over at the mall! They're all over the place, D.W.!" exclaimed Launchpad as he swerved the Thunderquack toward the shopping district.  
  
"that's three in three hours! Put the pedal to the metal, Launchpad!! We'll get the crook this time!" Darkwing set his jaw in determination, although outward appearances were certainly decieving. They'd caught the culprit responsible for the first minor blast, at a convenience store-front. One man was injured, none killed. The second had been set in a vacant parking lot, none were injured. Now this. it was uncanny!  
  
The thuderquack set down in the parking lot of the mall. Darkwing hopped out and strode over to the group of police. "fill me in, has the conniving culprit been brought to justice? or is all the work left to me, as usual?" he griped, feeling a longing for a good cup of coffee.  
  
"for your information, yes, we got him." sneered the officer, pointing to a cop car where a seedy looking man was being shoved in to.  
  
Darkwing gave the miffed officer a sidelong glance before surveying the scene, "damage is minimal, doesn't appear to be any casualties. . . has the incineration device been recovered yet?"  
  
the officer gave him a blank look.  
  
"have you found the bomb?"  
  
"oh, yeah. Cherry bomb, looks like it was made in the guy's basement. Are you finished here? some of us got a job to do."  
  
"bite me." growled Darkwing as he stomped off, gesturing to Launchpad to get them off the ground. "too many explosions in one night for this to be a coincidence. Either some gang is having a field day or. . . or. . ." he furrowed his brows in thought.  
  
"or what, D.W.?"  
  
"or. . . or they're not!" he proclaimed, "take us to the police station. If there are any more explosions, they'll probably follow the pattern of the first three: shoddy jobs done by non-professionals, in areas which aren't very well populated in the middle of the night."  
  
A few minutes later, Darkwing strode into the Police station, leaving Launchpad to watch the Thunderquack. He wasn't taking any chances after last April Fool's day!  
  
The secretary at the desk half stood up and extended a staying hand.  
  
"not tonight, my fine woman! Darkwing Duck is on a case!"  
  
The secretary, for lack of a reply, sat back down and blinked at the costumed duck as he continued to the back of the station.  
  
Darkwing spotted Rollins as the canine sat at a desk, sorting paperwork. Rollins gave him a startled look and a quick nod before lowering his eyes back to the desktop. Darkwing caught a fleeting glimpse of the single framed photo on the desk of a grinning young dog, holding a basketball against his side with one hand, and giving the camera a thumbs-up sign with the other.  
  
"I ain't sayin' shit until I see a lawyer!" the perpetrator was griping to a haggard policeman who had obviously seen his quota of crisis already that night.  
  
"a lawyer won't be able to help you, you villainous scum!" proclaimed Darkwing as he entered the bare room and sat down in one of the plastic chairs, "you can make this as hard or as easy as you want. Why the bomb? What's the deal? you got insurance to cash in on?"  
  
The perp shrugged, "if there was a. I dunno, third party or something. would it affect my sentence?"  
  
"it might." Replied the cop.  
  
"I got a phone call from some guy with a scrambled voice. Said he'd wire money to me if I set off the explosion. He said, somethin' small, but noticeable."  
  
"were you supposed to target anyone?" inquired Darkwing.  
  
"nope.  
  
"He just. . . wanted you to set off the bomb? For no reason?"  
  
"Why should I care about reasons, as long as I get the money, get me?"  
  
"yeah." Replied Darkwing, standing, "well, I'm done here, officer."  
  
The officer gave him an inquisitive look, but shrugged, turning back to the perpitrator for continued questioning.  
  
Darkwing stalked back to the Thunderquack. This wasn't a coincidence. These two matters had to be related. . . right? he rubbed his forefingers into his eyes as Launchpad maneuvered the Thunderquack back toward the tower. There was a time that he never second-guessed himself. Then Gosalyn had hit puberty. Ah, if he could only blame all his problems on the raging hormones of his teenage daughter. He had to think this through. And he needed some damn sleep.  
  
"let's call it a night, Launchpad."  
  
"sure thing, D.W."  
  
***************  
  
Dr. Quack looked about her furtively as she slunk down the darkened side- street. She held her pepper-spray in hand, but kept to the shadows nonetheless, where she knew danger lurked. The problem was, staying in the light was more dangerous still. For the fifth time since taking the subway to this end of town, she quickly darted into an alley, crossed to the other side of the block, and went in the opposite direction from her previous one. She couldn't afford to take any chances. Not with this. This was her last chance for. . . for what? What would this gain her? She knew it was a stupid idea, and would regret it in the long run, but. . .  
  
Revenge. . . she had been cowering in his shadow for too long. And they wouldn't suspect her to make so bold a move. Not her, not the proud scientist, who had a shining reputation at stake. But her pride was nothing in the face of her passions. And her passions that had been torn away from her. Soon. . . soon she would take it all back.  
  
She ducked into a doorway, her key rattling too loud for comfort in the rusty lock to the storage space. She proceeded inside, the shadows swallowing her form until she was invisible within the darkness.  
  
***************  
  
oooooh. . . intrigue. . . excitement. . . pepper-spray! It just doesn't get any better than this! I take it back, add a quart of ice cream and a couple gerbils, and it gets better, but still!  
  
Anyway, I'm still a bit insecure about my characterization. Sometimes I get the feeling that Darkwing is slipping out of character. If you notice this or anything related at all, I'd appreciate suggestions and comments. you know I'm always grubbing for reviews. Yeah, I know it's annoying. but hey, it wouldn't be me if it wasn't! 


	6. Checkmate

Dangerous Games: Checkmate By Tinselcat  
  
Rated: PG-13  
  
Summary: Things build up to a peak. . .  
  
Disclaimer: St. Canard, DarkwingDuck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack and Investigator Rollins are creations and property of myself.  
  
Note: I realize that I've been terrible about updating this story, but this is the second-to-last chapter, and it's almost over! I'm sorry I'm so lazy. But I promise it won't take me as long to post the next chapter as it did to post this one! Honest!  
  
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Drake groaned and flopped over in bed as the ring of his cell phone ripped into his sleep. He thrust his pillow over his head, but the last remnants of sleep were already dissolving, and the phone continued to ring. Squinting, he fumbled for the phone, seeing just enough to tell that the sun hadn't come up yet, although the sky had begun to pale from a rich, dark blue to a cold, steel gray.  
  
"mmmnnng?" he grumbled into the phone after pulling it under the covers with him.  
  
"'Ey. 'ello? Is dis Darkwing?"  
  
"Steelbeak?"  
  
"Wat's it to ya?"  
  
". . .What?"  
  
"Eh. . . er. . . sorry 'bout dat, instinct y'know. Look, I found some'tin funky."  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
"I dunno. Like 4 or 5. Look, ya wanna solve yer damn case or not? Shut up an' listen t'me." Drake heard the rooster take a breath on the other end, "I was lookin' over some stuff about dat damn Dr. White. Turns out he's a collegue of a scientist who was a former associate of dat Dr. Quack. 'Is name is Dr. Otis."  
  
Darkwing Duck sat up so fast his head swam and he fell back on the pillows, rubbing a temple, "What did you just say?"  
  
"Dr. Otis. Dis guy was working wid Dr. White shortly before 'e skipped the country."  
  
"Are you talking about the Dr. Otis who completed the work on the space shuttle? The Dr. Otis who pioneered the new kinetic-energy recycling engine? That Dr.Otis?"  
  
"One an' da same, dip-shit."  
  
Drake made ready to give a snappy retort, but decided it was too much trouble and gave a long-suffering sigh instead. "Is that all?" sneered Drake, "Otis and White worked together? Big deal. They're both scientists, that's what scientists do."  
  
"Do scientists always follow each othah around?"  
  
"What?" Drake sat up, his brows furrowing.  
  
He heard a dull banging from the other side of the wall and the muffled voice of his daughter telling him to shut up.  
  
"Da fact of da mattah is, for every project dat Quack 'as been on since 'er college days, Otis 'as joined eventually. Shortly aftah, she leaves the project, and it's completed wid'out 'er. Dey went to da same college. Looks like it started there. I'm findin' at least seven different projects dat they've both woiked on. Da last majah project dat was completed happened five years ago, after which Quack started to woik fer da University, keeping low-profile. So dis is 'ow it goes: Quack starts it out wid a team, Otis comes onto da team, and anywhere from a week to two months latah, she leaves wid'out explainin'."  
  
"So. . ." Drake rubbed his chin, "It looks like an explaination is in order! And what better job for. . . DARKWING DUCK!!" he stabbed a finger into the air.  
  
"Daaaaaaad! Do you even know what *time* is is?" Gosalyn banged on the wall several more times.  
  
Drake covered the receiver, "Sorry honey, go back to sleep."  
  
He heard a low "yeah right. . ." before the creak of her mattress and rustle of her covers.  
  
"One more t'ing." Said Steelbeak.  
  
"What?" Drake was careful to keep his voice low, lest his daughter decide to make use of her new baseball bat.  
  
"Dere's a big reunion dinnah fer da contributers and financers fer da space shuttle. Otis is gonna be dere, according to da guest list. You want I should get my boys together and-"  
  
"No!" hissed Drake, "What are you thinking? This is what we'll do: can you get on the guest list?"  
  
"Can Negaduck use illegal explosives? Of course I can!" scoffed Steelbeak.  
  
"Good. Go to the party and keep open communication with me. I'll be hiding out nearby. Try to talk to Otis and find out what's going on with him and Quack."  
  
"In dat case, I should take a couple 'a my boys ta-"  
  
"No! Nothing like that!"  
  
"I suppose I'll just 'ave ta break out da heat on 'is ass. . ."  
  
"No! No guns! Just. . . just find out what's going on! That's it! No kneecap-breaking, know finger-removing, just a nice, quiet chat!"  
  
"Jeez, it ain't no wondah you ain't got no goilfriend."  
  
Drake sputtered indignantly, "What. . . what. . . how would you know?"  
  
"Aw come on, Dope-wing. Ya really t'ink a guy who was getting any would be out fightin' crime every single night? Jeez. Get laid, you'd be less of an ass'ole."  
  
"This conversation is over!" huffed Drake, hanging up the phone over Steelbeak's classic snigger.  
  
*******************8  
  
Dr. Otis straightened his tie in the decorative mirror outside the hotel ballroom and smoothed down the fur between his ears. *Looking handsome, as always*. He thought to himself. *Charismatic, too* These financiers were already in his pocket, and the new ones would be soon. He spied Dr. White cowering in the shadows.  
  
"What are you doing here? You realize that half the people here will recognize you?"  
  
Dr. White mopped his forehead with his over-used handkerchief, his head swerving back and forth as he scurried forward and crouched behind a potted plant beside the mirror. "Bad news Otis. . ." he started, his eyes shifting.  
  
"What have you screwed up now?" growled Otis, narrowing his brown eyes at themselves.  
  
"We've, uh, we've lost track of Dr. Quack. . ." he flinched impulsively as he spoke.  
  
"You've WHAT?" Otis quickly composed himself as he drew a few curious glances from the well-dressed attendees to the ball. He ducked behind the plant next to White and grabbed the front of the quaking duck's shirt, "How did this happen?" he snarled.  
  
"Our, er, our man was following her towards the dock district and. . . he, ah, he lost her. I've sent all our agents to sweep the area, but it's been forty-five minutes and they've seen nothing. We've lost contact with two of them, and the other five are getting nervous . . . they, ahem, they want to pull out."  
  
"You stupid, blundering moron!" hissed Otis, a wild look in his eyes, "Tell them I'll have their guts nailed to my office bulletin board if they don't find her!"  
  
"But. . . the two agents. . ."  
  
"I don't give a damn about them! If something has happened to them, it's their own damn fault! If we don't have a location on her by the end of my speech. . ." he trailed off, letting go of White's shirt and giving him a warning look. "You're lucky I'm busy tonight. It's your ass, White, if you fail me." He spun about and stalked back toward the entrance, putting on a wide smile and shaking hands with the guests he recognized.  
  
White let out a long breath and dabbed at his face with his sleeve. He cell phone rang. "White here. What is it?"  
  
"Three more guys have disappeared, boss." Said the voice on the other end, "Something's going down tonight, and it doesn't look like a standard-issue mugging."  
  
"Just keep, ahem, keep going! I don't care who you have to, ah, shoot!" he hung up, panic twisting in his stomach. The last time he'd felt such extreme panic was just before he fled the country, narrowly escaping Darkwing Duck. He wondered if it wasn't time to buy a plane ticket. . .  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Steelbeak wove his way through the crowd, smiling threateningly at the curious looks directed at his beak. He waggled his eyebrows at a few ladies whose eyes swept up and down his dapper figure, but didn't approach them. If he'd had his way, Bushroot would be on his arm right now. He'd cajoled the plant-duck to the best of his charming ability, but the damn, soft- spoken botanist had Steelbeak twisted around his leafy hand, and the rooster had finally agreed that the pair of them would be too suspicious- looking in that group. Besides, more than one attendee would recognize the green duck.  
  
Instead, Steelbeak had hacked into the hotel security cameras and set Bushroot in front of them with a one-way communication unit (another of which was held by Darkwing Duck, who was playing tic-tac-toe with Lauchpad on the Hotel's roof), which connected to Steelbeak's earpiece, to let the rooster know of any suspicious activity. So far he'd only provided a running commentary on the genus and species of the various potted plants.  
  
Steelbeak finally spotted Otis, but cursed softly when the scientist's name was announced for the welcoming speech. He shoved his way to the front of the crowd, glaring up at Otis, hoping against hope that the speech wouldn't be long. He'd forgotten to wear his lucky glow-in-the-dark-star-printed boxer-shorts.  
  
"Friends, collegues and esteemed guests," Dr. Otis threw a charismatic smile toward the crowd, "We stand here on the anniversary of a historic event,"  
  
"Uh. . . Steelbeak," Bushroot's voice crackled over the communicator, "The exterior cameras are picking up something. . . something. . . really. . . uhh. . ."  
  
It was then that Steelbeak noticed a dull thumping that was not the accumulating thunder outside. Just then Darkwing's communicator crackled to life, "My god! Steelbeak! Get out of there, its-"  
  
Suddenly one of the walls blew inwards in a blast of fire and finished wood. People in the crowd began screaming. Otis stood on the podium, jaw open in shock. The dust cleared and what seemed like a giant phantom materialized from the cloud. Chrome and steel, rivulets of water streaming down the surface, gleamed in the light from the chandeliers. It stood on two wide feet, towering above the crowd at at least fifteen feet tall. At the top of the monstrous machine one could just make out the face of a duck with streaming blue hair, wearing a shaded visor. A disguised voice, sounding as if spoken through a metal tube, emitted from the machine, "I see Dr. Otis has everyone's attention. Always hogging the spotlight, aren't we?"  
  
"What do you want?" Otis's voice was strained, but steady.  
  
"Want? I want to help your publicity. After all, this should make the papers," one of the long-fingered metallic hands reached forward and before Otis could jump from the podium, snatched him up. "Smile for the reporters." Growled the voice, before the robot retreated through the hole in the wall.  
  
"Launchpad!" yelled Darkwing from the roof, "Fire up the ThunderQuack! Quick!" They hopped aboard the stealth plane. The engines roared to life. "This maniacal machine won't escape us!"  
  
The machine was stomping down the street.  
  
"It can walk, but it can't. . . fly. . .?" he trailed off as jets of fire suddenly emitted from the bottom of the thing's feet and it blasted off into the sky. "Launchpad! Follow at a distance! I don't want whoever's driving that monolith to know he's being followed!"  
  
The ThunderQuack hummed through the air, keeping the mech in sight as it headed toward the waterfront district.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Dr. Otis woke up thinking he must be hung over. Yeah, that must be it. He partied too hard at that ball, went home with some skank and got plastered. He opened his eyes. He blinked. Wherever he was, it needed better lighting. And why the hell did his wrists and ankles hurt?  
  
"So. . . you're finally awake. Just like you to pass out at the slightest hint of danger. You always were a coward."  
  
Otis blinked. He realized he was tied to a chair. He squinted into the darkness and could just make out a figure leaning casually against the opposite wall, in shadow, away from the dim, dead light that came through the small, high window. He peered at it. It must still be night. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"You can't tell? Think about it: you've woken up to the sound of my voice before. . ."  
  
His eyes widened, "Kamo. . ." they narrowed again, "what the hell do you think you're doing? You just kidnapped a well-known and respected scientist. You'll burn for this and you know it."  
  
" 'Well known and respected'?" she sneered as she stepped out of the shadows, wearing an odd black jumpsuit with metal attatchments on the arms legs and torso. "It should have been me!" she stabbed a finger toward herself. Her eyes were hidden behind the window's reflection in her glasses. "You. . . you took everything! Everywhere I went, everything I did, you were there! You followed me!" Her voice trembled with rage.  
  
Otis grinned at her, delighting in infuriating her further, "So, you're still stuck on that, are you?"  
  
"How could I not be? You followed me around and stole my work! You stole my discoveries! You stole my LIFE!" her voice cracked.  
  
"You didn't fight me. . ."  
  
"How could I? You're the one with the money! I couldn't possibly afford to take you to court and you knew that! So you took advantage of me time and time again!"  
  
"So what are you going to do now? Kill me?" he sneered at her, "you'll be sending yourself to hell, too!"  
  
"You're right, I will be." She said quietly, stepping closer to him. From her pocket she drew a small gun, "but it'll sure make me feel better. . ."  
  
Suddenly there was a crackling boom. Kamo gave a cry of surprise as the wall with the window suddenly exploded inward. Both she and Otis coughed until the dust cleared around the dark beak of the ThunderQuack.  
  
"Shit!" growled Quack.  
  
"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" a sound of grunting and choking came from the ThunderQuack as the windshield/door was forced open from under the dust and debris, "I am the chemical catalyst that neutralizes your carbonic acid!" after getting his cape stuck in the door, wrenching it free only to tumble to the floor, Darkwing finally straightened himself. "I am,"  
  
"Get her away from me! She's gone crazy!" Shouted Otis.  
  
Darkwing's shoulders slumped. All he wanted to do was finish the damn sentence.  
  
"Get out of here." Said Quack, pointing her gun at Otis again, "This doesn't involve you."  
  
Darkwing produced his gas gun from his cape and aimed it at her, "Wherever injustice is being done, it is my business! As soon as you captured Dr. Otis, it became my business! Put the gun down and surrender now!"  
  
"Injustice?" Quack said quietly, her voice trembling, "Injustice?!" she shrieked, raising her burning eyes to meet Darkwing's, "Injustice is what this asshole did to me! He stole my work! My research! All my discovieries! He took everything I was passionate about and twisted it to his own purposes!"  
  
Darkwing glanced at Otis as the truth dawned on him. *that's why his career follows hers. . . He was taking credit for her research! And now it's come to this. . .*  
  
Otis squirmed. Sweat shone in his fur, "She's lying! She's crazy!" His voice cracked with desperation.  
  
"Shut up!" Quack screamed. With a click, she took the safety off her gun. Tears streamed from behind her glasses, down her light brown feathers.  
  
Launchpad looked on from inside the ThunderQuack, hardly daring to breath lest he upset the balance of the delicate situation.  
  
"Don't do something you'll regret, Dr. Quack!" cried Darkwing.  
  
Quack's hand trembled. She set her jaw, glaring at Otis where he cowered.  
  
"Don't kill me!" Otis suddenly started sobbing like a child, as he saw the light of murder in her eyes "Please don't kill me! Oh god, I don't want to die!"  
  
"Shut up!" yelled Quack. Her finger tensed on the trigger.  
  
"If you do this, will you be any better than him?" said Darkwing, sighting down the barrel of his gun.  
  
She took a deep breath. Suddenly, all the tension seemed to leave her. Her arm fell, limp at her side. Her shoulders slumped, and she bowed her head.  
  
Darkwing didn't move.  
  
For several moments there was nothing but silence.  
  
Quack's shoulders began to heave with repressed sobs. She suddenly looked up, through the hole in the wall, toward the sky that was still dark, the stars blotted out by the city lights. "I can't do it." She whispered. "I'm not strong enough." Her face seemed to clear and through her tears, and a slow, sad smile appeared on her beak, "but," she sighed, "I am strong enough to do this."  
  
Darkwing's heart seemed to leap into his throat to lodge there, as Dr. Quack raised her arm and pressed the gun to her temple.  
  
Two shots rang out into the still night and the small room filled with smoke.  
  
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You know, I'm a real hypocrite. I hate it when people do cliffhangers like the one above, but I do it all the time. Just ask the people over at the Discworld fandom. Right now they're all ready to chop my head off. Ah, the joys of the internet: you can piss people off without putting yourself in any danger! Heh, at least, I hope so. 


	7. Recovering The Pieces

Dangerous Games: Recovering the Pieces By Tinselcat  
  
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters and terms referred to in this story except for Detective Rollins, Dr. Quack, Dr. White and Dr. Otis belong to Disney.  
  
Author's Note: well, it's been a long time in coming, but I've finally finished this fic! I'm not sure when my next DWD fic will be, because I have some for other fandoms going on right now, but hopefully not long.  
  
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Darkwing stood stiffly, waiting for the smoke to clear, fearful of what it would reveal when it did. Shapes gradually came into focus through the gray veil. Otis coughed. The dissipating smoke revealed Dr. Quack lying motionless on the floor, the gun a short way from her hand. Darkwing slowly walked up to her.  
  
Otis's voice seemed to come from far away, "Hey! Get me out of here! She's dead, there's nothing to see! Hey, are you listening to me, asshole?"  
  
Darkwing knelt by her body. There was a small, dark pool of blood beneath her head. Her eyes were closed. His fingers trembled as he pressed them to her neck. It was as if an ocean of tension suddenly flowed out of him as he felt a strong pulse. He gently lifted her head, feeling the back of her skull. The bullet had grazed the back of her head. The wound was still hot, but shallow. The smoke cartridge must have hit her hand and jarred it at the moment she pulled the trigger. He sighed. He heard sirens in the distance, steadily getting closer. Launchpad must have called the police.  
  
Within ten minutes Darkwing was briefing the police and Dr. Quack was on her way to the hospital, being escorted by the police.  
  
Darkwing sauntered up to Otis, who was sitting in the back of an ambulance, a scowl on his furry face. He plastered a wide smile over it as Darkwing approached.  
  
"I can't thank you enough for helping me. I feel honored to be rescued by the renowned Darkwing Duck!"  
  
Darkwing smiled back, leaning on the ambulance's doorframe. He tweaked the brim of his hat, "Yep, yep, yep. Just doing my job, like the best right- minded citizens, such as yourself." He scrutinized Otis's reaction from beneath his fedora.  
  
"Well, one does one's best. It takes a very specific kind of mind to do my sort of work."  
  
"Yes, about that. . ." Darkwing leaned closer to Otis, "A little birdy told me that your mind is specific to another kind of science all together." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Like the science of crime!"  
  
Otis looked at him sharply, his wide grin vanishing. For a moment, his jaw stiffened, and anger flashed in his eyes. He then composed himself and replied calmly, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I think you have me confused with-"  
  
"-Someone else? I don't think so. Unless you're not as famous as you'd like to believe."  
  
"I'm sure I don't know what you're getting at, but I assure you that-"  
  
"We have videos."  
  
Otis sat in shock for several moments before it sank in. "You're lying." He hissed.  
  
"Nope. I have my sources. Didn't you know there were security cameras in most of the labs where you and Dr. Quack worked?"  
  
"Your bluff won't work!" Otis growled, "I took care of all the security cameras in the building before entering her laboratory! Do you really think I'm the kind of fool who would let a detail like that slip? I told you I have a very specific kind of mind. If I wanted to, I could have stolen the research from all the four-eyed, lab-coated, fume-inhaling nerds in the building!"  
  
"Than why Dr. Quack?"  
  
"Because she was the most brilliant, you ignoramus! She had the most to lose, and I had the most to gain from bumping her off the ladder! I'm a genius, Mr. Darkwing, in every sense of the word. I do my work carefully and thoroughly, so you have nothing on me unless I hand you a confession!"  
  
Darkwing leaned back, the brim of his hat hiding his face. He looked up at Otis. The phony scientist was confused to see that the duck was grinning from ear to ear. Darkwing reached into his jacket, "My dear Dr. Otis, you just did!"  
  
Otis gurgled in shock as Darkwing pulled out a small tape recorder. He rewound it an pressed the play button. Otis heard his own voice come back to him: "She had the most to lose, and I had the most to gain from bumping her off the ladder!"  
  
"You. . . you. . .!" he sputtered.  
  
"Men," Darkwing turned toward the police, gesturing at Otis, "Arrest this man for fraud and attempted murder."  
  
Darkwing sauntered away into the dawn, grinning at the sounds of protest coming from Otis.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
"LOOK OUT! IT'S OUT OF CONTROL!!"  
  
Drake dove sideways as what looked like a small, dense and very angry cloud whizzed past his head and out the door.  
  
Morgana whizzed past him, tripped on her tight skirt, sprawled on her porch, and recovered just in time to send a glittering blast of magic at the retreating smudge of black on the horizon. Two pairs of eyes followed the wayward glitter until it intercepted the cloud, causing it to plummet to the ground, looking suspiciously like a perfectly shaped pink pudding.  
  
"Dammit!" yelled Morgana, pounding a slender fist on the warped wood beneath her, "I give up! Weather spells are just not my thing!" she stood up and brushed off her skirt. "What brings you here, Dar. . . er. . . Drake during the day, right?"  
  
"Right." Drake followed her inside, taking the proffered seat which gave out a small cloud of dust as he sat in it. He kindly refused her latest batch of cookies, which looked more like something an owl regurgitated. "I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by."  
  
"I heard about Dr. Quack and Dr. Otis. Quite a mess, as I understand. Who is defending Dr. Quack?"  
  
"Dr. Sarah Bellum from S.H.U.S.H.. Can you believe she has a degree in law?"  
  
"How is the trial going?"  
  
"Well, either she ends up in prison for years, or she walks, and neither seems likely at this point. How the jury decides it, and what her sentence is may depend entirely on me. I'm testifying tomorrow."  
  
"What are you going to tell them?"  
  
Darkwing leaned forward, massaging his forehead with his hands, "I don't' know. I mean, I know that Quack was the one who abducted Otis, in that huge machine. . . but. . . If I testify to that, she'll end up in jail for years, and I don't think she deserves that!"  
  
"Do they have any proof that she was driving that thing?"  
  
"No solid proof, only speculation. The only thing they know for sure is that she held him in the warehouse."  
  
So, what you're saying is, the decision that the jury makes may rest entirely on your testimony. . .?"  
  
"I'm afraid so." Drake massaged his temples, "The thing is, I know she's guilty. I just don't think she belongs in jail. The nuthouse, maybe, but not prison. . . ."  
  
"So, what are you going to do?"  
  
"I just. . . . don't know. . ."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^6  
  
Darkwing had to clasp his hands together in his lap not to fiddle with the bottom of his purple jacket. His eyes followed the defense lawyer's every move, as she paced back and forth, a manaiacal gleam behind her glasses. Ms. Bellum paced back and forth as if Darkwing were prey to be pounced upon and devoured. "Mister Darkwing, as the city of Saint Canard's trusted and intrepid protector, you have shrewd intellectual insights and access to quite exclusive information regarding the crimes committed, and the criminals, no less, that prowl this fair city. Therefore, your views concerning the crimes committed, allegedly by my client, Dr. Kamo Quack, may be very valuable. Based on your knowledge, what, exactly is Dr. Quack guilty of, if anything?"  
  
Darkwing took a deep breath and sought out Gosalyn, Launchpad and Morgana in the rows of seats. Gosalyn gave him a thumbs-up, Morgana flashed an encouraging smile, and Launchpad looked confused.  
  
"It seems to me that the only thing Dr. Quack is guilty of is threatening Dr. Otis, motivated by anger and resent after he stole credit for much of her work. That's all." "Thank you, Mr. Duck. That will be all."  
  
Several minutes later, silence pervaded in the courtroom. The tension in the air could almost be cut with a knife. The jury filed out of the conference room. Dr. Quack masticated her bottom beak in nervousness, twisting her scarf about her fingers and nearly cutting off her circulation in the process.  
  
"We have found the defendant guilty of conspiracy to kidnap Dr. Otis."  
  
A few minutes later, the judge announced the sentence. "It's obvious to me that Dr. Kamo Quack is suffering from moderate mental illness that has impaired her judgement. This does not entirely excuse her from responsibility for her actions, however. She is sentenced to no less than two years resindence with a probation officer and a year of community service. I am also requiring regular visits with a psychiatrist and the taking of any prescriptions required by the specialist."  
  
Dr. Quack stood up, and looked as if she were about to burst into tears of relief.  
  
The judge gave her a scrutinizing look over the top of his spectacles, "however, I'd keep out of trouble, if I were you, Dr. Quack, I'd stay out of trouble. You're being given a second chance here. Don't blow it." He turned to the murmuring assembly, "Dr. Quack will be picked up by her probation officer at an undisclosed time and location."  
  
Darkwing couldn't help but smile as Kamo gave Dr. Bellum a hug, tears streaming from behind her glasses. Launchpad, a bit confused as to courtroom protocol, began to clap as Gosalyn waved her "Go Darkwing!" pennant.  
  
Morgana leaned over to Darkwing, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You did the right thing, Dark. And very sexily, I might add. . ."  
  
"Yep, yep, yep. Just doing my duty for the common good. And sexiness. That too."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
White rushed up the stairs, as fast as his considerable bulk would allow. He leaned heavily on the railing. He paused on a landing to mop his brow and regain his breath. He then continued up the stairs, periodically throwing furtive glances over his shoulder. The police were off his trail. They had to be. . . he approached the door to his apartment, fiddling with the key in the lock. He opened the door. It was pitch black inside, as usual. He closed the door behind him and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened.  
  
"Ahem, shit." He swore.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah. We can't be havin' any 'a dat doity language. It ain't proper fer one wid a proper education."  
  
White shielded his eyes against the light that suddenly dominated his vision. When they adjusted, he lowered his hand to see Steelbeak, sitting in a lounge chair facing the door, a lit lamp on the table beside him. He wore a smug expression. He had a gun with a silencer in one hand, and a martini in the other.  
  
"Doc, ya look un'appy ta see me!"  
  
"How did you. . . ah. . . . how. . ."  
  
Steelbeak took a sip of his martini, "I'm afraid youse made me very mad, Doc." He said, ignoring White's question.  
  
"What do you, er, want?" asked White, fluttering his handkerchief. "I can get you money. I have, ahem, resources. Name your price."  
  
"My price is pretty high. . . think youse can 'andle it?"  
  
"Of course, just name it!"  
  
Without so much as a blink, Steelbeak aimed his gun and fired.  
  
White looked down, and expression of shock and dismay freezing upon his features. He raised a hand to the small, neat hole in his chest.  
  
"I told youse my price was high. . ." growled Steelbeak, his eyes glinting as cold and hard as his metal beak.  
  
White gave a last, shuddering breath and collapsed, motionless, on the floor.  
  
Steelbeak very calmly finished his martini and exited the apartment, locking the door behind him and tossing the key out the window at the end of the hallway.  
  
A small ringing came from his pocket. He fished out his cell phone and opened it, "'ello?"  
  
"Steelbeak! Where are you? I've been worried sick! I. . . er. . . just remembered that you carried a cell phone a minute ago. . ." came the concerned voice of Bushroot.  
  
"I been busy. . ."  
  
"With what?"  
  
"Killin' Doctah White, actually."  
  
"Steelbeak, you didn't have to. . . I-I mean you shouldn't. . ." Bushroot trailed off.  
  
"Y'know, I don' care about too many people, but if someone 'urts someone I do care about. . ." He left the sentence incomplete.  
  
"I understand." Said Bushroot quietly.  
  
"Put 'im behind ya now, babe. 'E ain't gonna 'urt anyone else."  
  
"Okay. Are you coming home now?"  
  
"Yeah. Be dere in a few minutes."  
  
"Uh. . . Steelbeak?"  
  
"Yeah, babes?"  
  
"I. . . er. . . loveyou. . ." Blurted Bushroot.  
  
Steelbeak could practically hear the plant-duck blushing. He couldn't help but smile, "Right back at ya babe, right back at ya."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
"DAAAAD! DAD! HEEEEEY DAAAAY-AAAAAAD!!!" Gosalyn rushed in to the kitchen, dragging Honker by his wrist, "Mrs. Muddlefoot wants us all to come and meet the new neighbors. The movers came yesterday, and she thinks we should go as a community to welcome them. So come ON!!"  
  
"Gosalyn, dear, can't you see that I'm busy?" Drake asked as sweetly as he could, being up to his elbows in soapsuds and dirty dinner dishes.  
  
"But Mrs. Muddlefoot says-"  
  
"Gosalyn!"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"Gos!"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
They both clenched their fists and growled at the air.  
  
Honker stepped forward, scuffing his feet and staring at the floor, "My mom says that if you don't come, she's going to come over here and give you a lecture on the value of community and making everyone feel like they're part of a big family. . .She's got that look in her eye, again. . .." he mumbled.  
  
"I'm there!" cried Drake, zipping out the door and across the street in record time, to catch up with Mr. and Mrs. Muddlefoot on the porch of the small and somewhat decrepit-looking two-story house.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Mallard!" sang Mrs.Muddlefoot in a cheery voice, "how delightful to see you! I'm so glad you came!"  
  
Mr. Muddlefoot swung a massive arm about Drake's narrow shoulders, "Looks like we may have another pal ta watch the big game with, eh, Drake-o old pal!"  
  
Drake gurgled miserably.  
  
Mrs. Muddlefoot knocked on the door and chirped, "Hellooooo! Anyone home? It's the neighborhood welcoming committee!" She giggled happily, completely in her element, bearing a casserole and gift-basket.  
  
Muffled curses came from inside the door. Drake could make out two distinct voices. The door opened, and they stared into the haggard-looking face of none other than detective Rollins.  
  
Drake tried not to let his eyes bug out in surprise by blinking a lot. Incidentally, he ended up looking like he had severe allergies.  
  
Rollins, seeing Mrs. Muddlefoot's disapproving gaze gravitate toward his cigarette, hastily dropped it on the porch and stepped on it. "Hey. Uh. . . . so, you're the neighbors, huh?"  
  
"Yes! I'm Mrs. Muddlefoot, this is my husband Herb, our son Honker and of course Drake Mallard from next door, and his lovely daughter Gosalyn." She beamed and held out her gifts. Drake thought they looked like peace offerings from a foreign nation.  
  
Rollins took them gingerly, as if afraid they might blow up at any moment. "I'm, er, Mr. Rollins, from the police force, and this is, uh," he looked behind him and, seeing no one there, called over his shoulder, "Hey! Four- eyes! Meet the neighbors!"  
  
A voice from inside called back, "there's enough bacteria in this kitchen to supply an entire eighth-grade science fair! Don't you ever use ammonia?"  
  
"Quit being antisocial!" Shouted Rollins.  
  
Drake gaped as Dr. Kamo Quack appeared beside Rollins, hair disheveled with a dishcloth in one hand and a bottle of window-cleaner in the other.  
  
Rollins gestured toward her with an elbow, "This is my. . . er. . . friend, Dr. Quack."  
  
Drake prayed that the Muddlefoots hadn't read about the trial in the paper. A criminal on probation wouldn't go over well among the local Gossip circle.  
  
Dr. Quack's beak fell open as she saw Drake, but she recovered in time to nod politely Mrs. Muddlefoot's introductions.  
  
"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?" Asked Rollins, looking sidelong at Drake as Mrs. Muddlefoot gabbered on to Dr. Quack about cleaning tips and domestic life in general.  
  
"er. . . . I don't think so. . . " Said Drake, trying to avoid Rollins's eyes.  
  
"I think he has one of those faces!" blurted Dr. Quack.  
  
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Rollins grunted.  
  
Drake eventually managed to extricate himself from the situation, but not after Mrs. Muddlefoot had managed to make them all promise to show up for a friendly neighborhood barbecue next weekend. He rushed back to the house and slammed the door, leaning against it, panting.  
  
Launchpad wandered toward him, munching on a post-dinner sandwich. "What's up, Drake-a-rooney?"  
  
Drake sighed, "We've got a disgruntled Saint Canard cop and an equally disgruntled scientist of questionable mental state living in our neighborhood."  
  
"Well, whaddaya know?" remarked Launchpad amiably, "Oh yeah, I checked our messages at the bridge. Bushroot and Steelbeak have gone on vacation in Hawaii, Neptunia wants to lodge an official complaint with the city about rubbish being dumped into the river, and somehow Negaduck got our number. He said to watch out for him in the near future. Apparently he's got something up his sleeve. Crazy, huh?"  
  
Drake sank slowly to the floor. As usual, life was getting less and less boring.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
/Sings/ THE EEEEEEEEENNNNND!! TA DAAAAA!! I do hope you enjoyed the flight, feedback is always welcome, have a nice day. ; )~ 


End file.
